Inertia
by Margo'sShed
Summary: A one-shot that carries on from the Connie and Jacob kiss. This is the story of what happened when they went back to Connie's...


_**INERTIA**_

 _ **This carries on from the first Connie and Jacob kiss.**_

"This is uh...this is it."

Connie gestured vaguely with her keys to the building before them. She had merely spoken so that she could have something to say as Jacob followed her from the car to the front door. A silence had settled between them, a silence not born from discomfort, but it was just enough that she could feel the tension between them spark and ignite at every accidental touch, and every hesitant glance.

Night had fallen and enveloped the city in a blanket of darkness. Fallen leaves blustered and scuttered across the doorstep in ripples of red and gold, and she stepped on them with a satisfying crunch. The porch light was on, and the familiar yellow glow made the house feel warm and inviting and a brand new flower pot to the right of the door that was filled with winter pansies bobbed their purple faces at them in greeting.

"Very nice."

He glanced up at the building whilst she unlocked the door. The house loomed above them in the darkness, pale grey against a starless sky.

She leant against the door with her shoulder, and as she removed the keys from the lock she felt her fingers tremble. She was shaking, she realised. Her usual calm had been replaced by a carousel of ideas, each one more worrisome than the last, and her entire body was vibrating with nervousness and second thoughts...

She cleared her throat and drew in a steadying breath before turning the handle and stepping into the hallway. She paused for a moment to reach for the light switch, hearing only the soft click of the door behind her as Jacob closed it. She half-turned, acknowledging his presence but unable to do anything but suppress the flicker of a nervous smile.

The hallway seemed smaller with him there, his body so large, and his skin and the black of his clothes were in stark contrast to the white walls and pale marble floor.

"Come through."

She gestured again with her hand, and he caught the barely visible shake of her fingers, though he said nothing. Instead he followed her from the hallway into the kitchen where the room sprawled out before them – an array of sleek white cabinets and glossy black appliances.

"Can I get you a drink...something to drink?"

She flushed as she spoke, something seemed to have happened to her, she seemed to be unravelling before him. Every bit of herself that she was usually in complete control of seemed to be coming undone.

He drew up his shoulders and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"If you like."

He said simply, his eyes glittering, enjoying this new Connie, a side he had rarely seen...a side so vulnerable and nervous that it made his heart ache just to be near her.

She pursed her lips and glanced about the kitchen. _What did he drink? What did she have...?_

She cleared her throat and set about opening cupboards, reaching for glasses, fussing with bottles in the cupboard just to the right of the fridge. She ran her hand along the side of the cupboard door, the surface was perfectly flat, glassy almost – a glossy white that reflected the light and left warm fingermarks where she touched.

She held her breath, catching sight of herself in the window above the sink, a blur of black and white and shades of grey, the mosaics of refracted light about her, and the kitchen paraphernalia hanging form the beams above their heads were reflected in tiny fragments of silver that reminded her of snow...of ice... With a sigh she turned her attention back to the bottles, the labels unrecognisable all of a sudden, as though her brain were full of static, either firing off a million unhelpful thoughts at once or offering nothing at all.

She wanted to walk right up to him and tell him that she wanted him, that she would do anything for him, that he was what she wanted, flaws and all...Instead she let her hand fall from the cupboard to the smooth surface of the work top.

Her fingers twitched involuntarily and she closed her eyes, needing a moment to steady herself, to catch the breath that seemed to ache within her throat.

"You're shaking."

A hand encased her own, she felt him press against her from behind, his body warm and solid...comforting despite his ability to unsettle her.

"Connie?"

He placed his other hand on her hip.

"If you're having second thoughts-"

"No! No..."

She cut him off abruptly and sighed heavily. She opened her eyes, and allowed him to draw her closer as she turned within his arms to face him. She looked up at him.

"You make me nervous."

She admitted, speaking her thoughts aloud almost without meaning to.

He smiled slightly, a disbelieving twitch of a smile and he sucked in a breath.

" _I_ make _you_ nervous?"

He asked, almost laughing.

"Mmm..."

She glanced down between them, to where his chest rose and fell beneath his jumper.

"You've got nothing to feel nervous about."

He tilted his head to one side to gain her attention.

"Oh I think I have..."

She murmured.

He gave a slight shake of his head but remained silent, instead he raised a hand to push an errant curl of hair from her cheek, smoothing it back against her ear, the brief touch making her shiver.

She looked up at him, his fingers lingering there by her cheek as he watched her with eyes that were so full of intent that she found she had to look away again.

"Hey..."

He nudged her chin gently with the side of his hand, and with an exhale of defeat she met his eyes once more. He made her feel smothered, suffocated even. The way he looked at her, his eyes glittering with amusement, his lips suppressing the smile that his eyes could never hide.

"Relax..."

He whispered the word and she felt the bloom of warmth at her cheeks as he leant closer to her.

"Is there somewhere we can sit? We don't have to have a drink right now..."

"Oh, of course. Ye-es-"

He brushed his thumb against her lips to silence her. He could feel the bristle of anxiety that seemed to have crept up on her, and he longed to be able to rid her of it. She was left looking up at him, lips parted against his thumb, hazel eyes wide. She couldn't help but think back to earlier, to the moment in her office when she had finally, _finally,_ pushed caution aside and given in...

"It's just...through there."

She leant away from him so that she could look through the open door of the kitchen, through the hall to the door opposite.

He stepped away from her, the space where his body had been warm against hers now instantly cold and bereft.

"Lead the way."

He followed her back through the hall into the sitting room, where again she reached for the light switch.

He watched as she made her way into the room. He looked about himself, taking it all in...

It was as though he stood before an image from a magazine. The sort of room you find yourself afraid to sit in, in case you wrinkled the fabric of the sofa, or stained it with something you didn't even know was about your person.

He smiled slightly, it was all so very...'Connie'. The sofa was a pale grey, but inlaid with a fine white silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in winter and just sunk in, but he knew as he came closer, and placed a hand upon the back of the sofa that they must have taken hundreds of hours to sew.

There were photos of Grace on the mantle piece - black and white photographs, not casual family snaps, but arranged to look like such by a professional. The floor was a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. The white curtains were linen, the kind of white that was untouched by hands and devoid of dust. He took a cursory glance to the right, to the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them.

Connie moved past the television – a modest sized flat screen without the hint of a smear on the glossy screen. But it was the bookshelves that caught his eye as Connie bent down next to the fireplace. The bookshelves that flanked the chimney breast and rose from floor to ceiling. Solid shelves that held what must have been hundreds of books, and he wondered briefly when she had the time to read...

He realised what she was doing as she reached up to the mantle piece for a solid silver box. She slipped the lid open and took out a match with which to light the fire.

"Let me do that..."

Once more he was behind her, his hand upon hers. She raised an eyebrow, the match held between them.

"Have you got a blanket?"

He asked, taking the match before she had time to respond.

"A blanket?"

She repeated, his request confusing her momentarily.

"A large piece of woollen or similar material used as a covering on a bed or elsewhere for warmth?"

He sucked in his cheeks against a grin and she rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

"That's better."

He murmured, noticing the tension begin to give as she smiled. She pursed her lips and placed the silver box back on the mantle.

"I'll just find something..."

And she left him to light the fire though she was back moments later with a large soft plum coloured blanket. She held it bundled up awkwardly against herself, unsure what she was expected to do with it.

He looked up from the fire. The flames licked and pranced, hissed and popped, and twinkled like stars in the black of the chimney breast before billowing up, up, and out of sight.

She bit her lip as he looked up, his face illuminated beautifully by the gold of the flames, he was darker now, hidden in shadow and light all at once. His eyes glittered, and he stood slowly, pushing on his knees as he rose up.

Silently he took the blanket from her, and without a word he shook it out before them, spreading it on the floor beside the fire, kicking the corners out to lay them flat against the wood before holding out a hand to her.

She hesitated before taking it, knowing very well that if she accepted it in this moment, then there was no going back.

She sucked in a steadying breath and, slowly, she accepted his hand to steady her as she slipped off her shoes.

She nudged the Louboutins with her bare toes so that they leant against the edge of the coffee table. He looked from them to her. She was smaller now, much smaller than he had anticipated, and he was filled, suddenly, with the overwhelming urge to protect her.

He inhaled, the smell of her perfume, her hair, the smoke from the fire...

"Didn't realise what a difference those heels made."

He murmured, reaching for her other hand and pulling her close. She felt suddenly self-conscious and she glanced back to the heels that were tilted over on the floor, worried that he was somehow disappointed.

"You're beautiful."

He said quietly, as if he could read her very thoughts.

She dipped her head, she could feel her cheeks flushing, she looked at their hands intertwined between them. How small hers looked within his, how different they were, her own pale, lined and freckled, his larger, darker, and smoother than she had expected.

"You're shaking again."

He could feel it, a tremor that she couldn't seem to stop.

"Come here."

Without another word he lowered himself down on the blanket, tugging her gently, coaxing her to join him.

She found herself hesitating again, seemingly incapable of movement, rendered useless all of a sudden, by the enormity of what might happen. He gave her fingers the gentlest of squeezes, breaking her train of thought, and he watched as she exhaled and succumbed to him, kneeling down, waiting awkwardly until he drew her in between his legs, and he sat with his back against the side of the sofa, right next to the fire, his legs spread out before them. He guided her down so that she was nestled between his thighs, her back pressed against his chest, her head against his shoulder, his arms wrapped about her, hands resting against her chest.

"Alright?"

He asked. She nodded faintly, all too aware of every flex of his chest at her back, his arms about her, and every brush of his beard against her cheek.

"I'm fine."

She lied.

He let his fingers trace feather light trails over the fabric at her shoulders as he brushed his lips against the side of her head. He rubbed her shoulders, her neck, kneading away the tension that made her shoulders rise until he felt her grow slack against him and her head relaxed back against him. She could feel his lips at the side of her head, she could feel his eyes on her, looking down at her, at how his hands looked against the black fabric of her blouse.

Slowly he moved a hand to the buttons at her chest, pausing, silently asking permission before undoing them He felt her hold her breath as the fabric slackened and he raised his hand to her shoulders again, pushing the fabric so that it strained against her chest but draped open at her shoulders. He touched the bare skin of her neck, smoothing his hands down to her shoulders. She sucked in a sharp breath. The touch of his hands on her bare skin was so much more erotic than she could have ever expected. He was touching her, rubbing her skin over and over when all she really wanted him to do was to reach lower...

She arched her back ever so slightly, a movement which he noted, a movement which he responded to with the faintest groan deep within his throat. The sight of her breath quickening, her chest rising and falling beneath the black fabric that pulled tight against her, her nipples showing stiff through the cotton, made his breath catch.

"The things I could do to you..."

He murmured against her. She paused, and looked up at him, remembering how he had said those same words to her once before.

"I didn't think you remembered..."

"How could I forget?"

He dipped his head to kiss her ear, then just behind where the skin was softest, and along the side of her neck. She could feel the pulsing need for him growing between her legs, with every flick of his tongue and press of his lips against her neck, and every graze of his teeth against her shoulder she shuddered and pushed against him again.

He ran his hands along her arms, she could feel how he trembled, how his breath didn't come so evenly any more, and when his hands moved to her waist to tug her blouse free from the waist band of her trousers she felt the push of him against her lower back, she could feel his arousal right there against her spine and for a moment she wondered what she was doing.

He touched her stomach and her skin flinched from him, he touched her ribs, running higher, stroking the soft warm flesh, running up over the rise of each rib, over and over, higher each time until his thumbs nudged against the under wire of her bra and she bit her lip.

"You sure you want this?"

His voice was low and his breath was warm against her ear. She shivered visibly and a flurry of goosebumps rose across her skin beneath his fingertips.

"I've never been so sure of anything..."

She whispered, braving looking up at him. He looked to her lips, how they were parted and perfectly pink – the colour of summer roses.

He turned her around in his arms, and whilst they were so close, face to face, he unbuttoned her blouse, whilst she ran her fingers to the hem of the long sleeved top that he wore. He paused, and allowed her to work it up his body, and off, over his head. She couldn't help but look at him, at each muscle that flexed and grew taught as he moved, his skin the colour of warm honey in the firelight.

She had the sudden urgency to feel him against her, skin on skin. She tucked his top aside and whilst he watched her, with his eyes firmly on her own, she reached behind herself and unclasped her bra. Letting the straps fall down her arms before she removed it. Never once did he falter, never once did he look away from her eyes until she was against him, and she wrapped her arms about his neck, tugging him closer, setting him off balance and he cradled her head as they fell backwards onto the rug.

She lay beneath him, her hair splayed out like about her head – an auburn halo of glossy curls. He held himself above her, just taking a moment to enjoy how she – _Connie Beauchamp_ – looked beneath him.

She shuddered as he kissed her, lowering himself slightly so that their bodies touched – she instinctively wrapped her legs about his hips, as if drawing him into her – he kissed her slowly, his lips against hers, and he moved against her, emitting a groan as he pressed himself perfectly between her legs and she rolled her hips. She could feel him there – how hard he was beneath the rise in his trousers, how he pressed against her, almost painfully so...

"I want you..."

She whispered into his ear, and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against her shoulder, gathering himself.

He reached down between them, she felt his fingers search for the zip that wasn't there.

"At the back."

She murmured, raising her hips off the ground so that he could reach around, pressing their bodies closer, and whilst he lowered the zip of her trousers she couldn't help but move against him, creating just a little bit more of the friction that they both craved so intensely.

He pulled her trousers down, hooking his fingers into the elastic of her underwear, shifting only briefly so that she could kick them off before positioning himself on top of her once more, between her legs, her knees either side of his hips, and she slipped a hand between them to his fly. She blushed as she felt the twitch of what lay beneath her fingertips. Slowly she unbuckled his belt and drew down the zip.

He removed them with practised ease and as he lowered himself to kiss her she tentatively wrapped her legs around him. She jumped as she felt the nudge of him against her, the pressure of him as he entered her – how long it had been since anyone had touched her like that...loved her like that...filled her so completely that she could barely summon the breath to whisper his name.

And then his fingers were touching her between her legs, so gently, so slowly that she thought she might pass out, and he eased himself into her, deeper, slower, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting inside her again, deeper with every curl of his hips and she moaned into his mouth, against his kisses, gasping between his lips, her eyes closed so tightly, her legs wrapped about him coaxing him in further, further until she felt fuller than she ever had before, full of more pleasure than she had ever thought possible. Never had it been like this...never...

She ran her hands up his back, across every inch of muscle, taught and sweating and moving above her, around her, inside her, his fingers slipping over wet flesh, how hard he was inside her, how he kissed her with everything he was, how he seemed to know her body better than she knew it herself. And then she was coming around him before she'd even realised she was going to, tightening, gripping hold of him and the quicker he moved, the harder she came until she could no longer tell whether or not she was panting or crying out. She felt his body jerk against hers, felt the warmth of him as he came inside her, and how she fell back against the blanket, light headed and blinking against the white spots that hung in her peripheral vision.

He held himself above her even now, not wanting to crush her, but his head was against her neck, and his whole body was moving with the weight of every breath.

She raised a hand to place it across her forehead and closed her eyes. He moved slowly, gracefully even, shifting, wincing as he pulled out of her. She felt lost, instantly empty...

She opened her eyes and found him looking down at her.

"I think that's what they call, 'worth the wait."

He whispered, and he kissed her on the lips as though they had kissed a thousand times before.

If you enjoyed this, please have a read of my story, 'Fairytale on 5th Avenue', which will be an ongoing Connie and Jacob story.

Please review if you did enjoy it :) xxx


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